by Betty Bolte
“Believe it, babe.” He yanked open the passenger door so hard it bounced back and hit her in the shoulder.
“Ow! Damn, you’re nuts.”
“Watch your head.”
She rubbed her shoulder for a split second before gasping as he dumped her onto the truck seat. Startled by the abrupt stop, she didn’t understand what had caught Max’s attention at first and then realized her skirt had bunched around her waist, exposing her black lace-edged panties to his hungry view. Which he was taking full advantage of.
“Are you done ogling?” she asked, seething inside.
“Nowhere near.” He pushed her legs forward in the truck and slapped the door closed and then leered at her through the open window. “But a gentleman wouldn’t take advantage of a damsel in distress, so I’ll just keep the image in my mind while I take you home.”
She hiked her hips and yanked the skirt, hidden stitches popping, back down into place, enjoying the strain on his face as he tried to avoid watching her actions. She snatched the seat belt and clicked it home. “If you insist. But don’t leave my purse on the ground.”
“Yes, my lady.” He marched back and snatched the offending objects from the ground and tossed them through the window at her. Then he strode to the driver’s side and hopped in, slamming his door closed. “I’d never expect anything from you except more of the same.”
“If you mean more trouble, then you’ve got it.” Meredith slipped the pepper spray back inside her purse, wishing she’d had the opportunity to show him how much trouble she could be.
Chapter 15
A puff of dust whooshed into the air when Meredith thunked the wire dress dummy down beside the stack of boxes she’d carted from the attic to the second-floor landing. She dusted her hands off, relishing the dirt falling to the floor. It felt good to finally return to her original plan. The first step being to sort out and organize what hunkered in an attic replete with all those pesky memories. Resting her hands on her hips, she admired her work. Boxes decorated with crayon and stickers piled in one corner, reminiscent of days gone by. Plastic tubs filled with craft supplies towered in another corner of the landing. The mannequin stood in the center, lording over its underlings. Next up, the old furniture, an assortment of chairs and side tables, coat stands, and who knew what else. She hadn’t bothered to look into most of the boxes and bags, not caring about their contents.
Back in the attic, Meredith surveyed the changes she’d wrought to the space. Dust bunnies huddled together along the baseboards, now easily visible without all the clutter. Pale sunshine angled in through the windows. She grabbed up a chair, one crossbar dangling, and lugged it down the stairs. With each step she gloried in the sense of achievement, of making good on her threat to Max. All the way home the night before, she’d fumed about being manhandled and carted about like a sack of potatoes. He didn’t credit her with the brains and dedication to see her aims through. Well, he’d soon find out.
“What on Earth are you doing?” Paulette emerged from her bedroom. From the stomping of feet as she approached, she was angry too.
“Following through with my plan.” Meredith set the chair down beside the mannequin, bumping it slightly, causing the wire figure to teeter and then rock back into place. “Finally.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Paulette marched down the hall and stopped by Meredith’s elbow. “I thought you’d delayed until you understood what happened to Grace.”
“Right. Now I know, so I can proceed. I called Sammy’s Salvage, and they should be out here this afternoon to cart away whatever is valuable.”
“No. Way.” Paulette grabbed Meredith’s arms and shook her. Literally. “You really have lost your mind, you know that?”
Meredith stepped back, shaking off the punishing hands. “What is it to you, anyway? You never cared about this place while Grandma was living. Why now that she’s dead? Tell me that.”
Paulette cut her eyes away, and then back to glare at Meredith. “Maybe I want a little more time to be with family.”
“You?” Meredith laughed. “That’s funny. You’ve stayed as far away from family as you can get.”
“So have you.” She barred Meredith’s attempt to stomp back up the steps. “You who think you’re better than any of us because of your high-brow education.”
“I do not. Step aside.” Meredith tried to move her sister over so she could pass. “I’ve got work to do.”
“No.” Paulette pushed her back, twisting an ankle as she wrestled to keep Meredith from moving away from her. “Ouch!”
“Let go.” Meredith pried at Paulette’s fingers. “Get off me!”
“You’ve never listened to me. I’m telling you now. You’ve made me care about Twin Oaks and I won’t let you destroy it.” Paulette pulled Meredith closer and then slapped her hard across the face. “Grow up, little girl.”
Meredith gasped and then swung her open hand toward Paulette’s jaw. Paulette ducked and spun, connecting her open palm to Meredith’s cheek. They squared off like bantam weight boxers, assessing their abilities. They circled, looking for an opening. Meredith’s blood surged with anger. Her sister always had the uncanny ability to pluck the nerve strings to create discord. Today proved no different.
“Damn you! You don’t care about this place any more than I do. We just care about it in different ways. I don’t want to hurt you, especially since you’re expecting. Now get out of the way and let me finish what I started.” Meredith fisted her hands on her hips and glared at her sister. “Stop trying to get yourself hurt and let me past.”
“Bitch. I’m not letting you do this.” Paulette assumed a ready stance, pumping her fists before her like the defending champion. “Bring it on.”
The two women eyed each other, and then Paulette moved in, punching and slapping at Meredith. She ducked a jab and danced away. Paulette dodged in for a quick strike, an openhanded slap, a glare thrown in for good measure, and then retreated out of reach.
“Let it go.” Meredith ducked as Paulette swung a fist at her. “You’ll never win this.”
Paulette jerked left to cut off Meredith’s attempt to rush past her. “I have to.” She circled, slowly sidling toward the stairs leading up to the attic. She stopped when her body blocked the way up the steps. “You can’t get away with your dastardly plan.”
Meredith hooted. “You make me sound like some evil plotter to your Perils of Pauline character.”
“Exactly.” Paulette’s fist connected with Meredith’s jaw, sending her backward several steps.
Stars circled Meredith’s head like fireflies on a summer’s evening. She shook her head and then closed in on her sister. “Pauline was always the one in trouble, like you.”
Paulette’s brows dove together with each of Meredith’s steps toward her. “Yet, she always won in the end.”
“Not today.” Meredith lunged, smacking her sister first on the face, and then hitting her shoulder. “Just remember you started this.”
Paulette fought back with everything she had. Meredith’s arms began to ache and her head to throb from the hits and punches they’d exchanged. She tried to be careful where she hit and at what angle, but no way would she allow Paulette to best her. Her movements slowed, her breathing quick and shallow. From the looks of it, Paulette too struggled to keep up the pace. Red welts showed on both their arms and faces. Suddenly they stood bent at the waist facing each other, hands on thighs, dragging in deep breaths, ready yet wary of the other’s next move.
Huffing and puffing, Meredith glared at Paulette. Her sister’s face reflected the depth of her fatigue as well as the marks left from their brawl. She needed a white knight. Someone like Pauline’s. Or that cartoon do-gooder who bungled his way through saving the damsel in distress. The image of Dudley Do-Right floated into her mind’s eye, and she chuckled.
Paulette bristled, fists tight on her thighs. “What?”
“Where’s Dudley when you need him?” Even the name made
Meredith smile, then laugh.
Paulette grinned. “With his red-and-blue Canadian Mountie uniform and that huge jaw?”
“Your hero.”
Meredith started laughing and couldn’t stop. Her legs gave out, and she slid to the floor, lying on her back as the guffaws shot from her mouth. Tears pushed out of her eyes, and she brushed them away. Paulette, too, doubled over as she laughed, stomping one foot on the floor in her hysteria.
Running steps sounded from below, pounding up the stairs. Meg, her hair tousled and her cheeks red, came to an abrupt halt at the top, Dina right behind her.
“What in the name of heaven is all this ruckus about?” Meg asked, treading carefully to the landing.
Paulette straightened, wiping the last of the laugh-induced tears from her face. “This.” Paulette indicated the piles surrounding the group of women. “She’s seriously fucked up.”
“Paulette.” Dina shook her head as she took in the scene before them.
“She is.” Paulette hunched her shoulders, reminding Meredith of how she’d acted when caught doing something she knew she shouldn’t.
Dina directed her famous mom look at Paulette, the one that froze grown men as well as little girls into a pillar of guilt. Paulette muttered something unintelligible and stared at Meredith, thus avoiding the remnants of the incapacitating gaze.
“Now let’s begin to act like ladies instead of roller-derby queens, got it?” Dina looked at each of them in turn. “What’s this really about? Who wants to start?”
Meredith’s heart clenched. Here they go. Reveal time. She pointed at Paulette but stayed mum.
Paulette narrowed her eyes, her right foot tapping the floorboards. “Sis, here, wants to ignore the fact that I don’t want her to start over…”
Meredith gaped at her, one eyebrow raised, her heart racing. She’d never expected that to emerge from her sister’s mouth. How could she not want Meredith to find some semblance of peace after all the tragedy of the past? “You don’t?”
She shook her head. “Let me finish my sentence, will ya?” After Meredith nodded once, Paulette pressed her lips together briefly and then plunged on. “I don’t want you to start over if it means you must obliterate our ancestral home. It’s ours now, a grand old home to cherish and care for. Not destroy.”
“Meredith, what have you to say in return?” Dina patted her fingers on one elbow, eyebrow quirked in question.
“I—” Meredith stopped, unsure what to say. “I don’t think I can live here. It’s overwhelming and confusing.”
She let her gaze wander around the space now boasting an assortment of boxes and furniture. Traces of previous years, days, lives. Representing a time before all the pain began in her life. When she’d had fun and found joy in her days. Back when she’d loved to play dress up and ride her scooter, build with blocks and real building materials. Constructing buildings and bridges made her happy from her childhood years up until the random attack.
But then the attack was random, wasn’t it? Nobody could predict a young man would become so desperate as to steal twenty bucks and kill a man to do so. In some ways, she pitied the guy. How did he sleep at night knowing he’d murdered a man over such a small amount of cash? Not that it mattered anymore. She’d always miss her husband, always wonder about their unborn baby. But that didn’t mean she must turn her back on all the good times she’d shared with them and the rest of her family.
She considered Paulette, the only sister she’d ever have. They had their differences and conflicting life goals, without a doubt. Paulette’s unborn child would need a home and a family to love her. Meredith understood the protective spirit of a new mother. Could they work out their contentions? Was it possible for her to find a different way to assuage the grief festering like an infected wound? She’d thought amputation of the affected part, her heart, was the answer. But now she wasn’t sure. Maybe having a partner to sort through all this junk would ease the burden in more ways than one.
Feelings experienced decades before shimmered in her conscience. Another day or two wouldn’t matter, would it? “I—we need to at least sort this out so we know what we have, right? Those things we don’t need or want. Then we can decide, together, what to do with the rest.”
“Oh my God, really? Thanks, Mer. You won’t regret this.” A grin sparkled in Paulette’s eyes. She closed the distance between them and linked arms with Meredith. At her touch, a sense of familiarity spread through Meredith. “Let’s go up together and see what’s what, then. ’Kay?”
Hours later they’d sorted through the remainder of the attic’s contents. Along the west wall, all the furniture stood stacked, with the assortment of boxes and trunks lined up along the north wall. Rubber and plastic tubs of Christmas decorations and other seasonal goods rested against the east wall. Along the south wall, to the right of the attic door, the random open boxes of books and photo albums waited to be carted down the steps. Meredith fingered the spines, feeling the dimpling on the leather covers, the raised lettering on the professionally bound tomes. So many fascinating titles piqued her curiosity. One photo album snared her attention with its black crumbling pages bound by a string looped through the cover and the pages and tied to secure the package. She slid it from the box and plunked down cross-legged on the dusty floor, engrossed by the words printed with an elegant hand on the cover in gold ink.
“What’s that?” Paulette folded her legs into a sitting position beside Meredith and peered over at the book. “Wow, is that what I think it is?”
“Yes, the O’Connell album prior to the breakout of the Civil War.” She traced the lettering with her index finger, the smooth, fluid feel of the ink still tantalizing, evoking a sense of time standing still.
“Open it. Let’s see what they looked like.” Paulette reached to do so, and Meredith stopped her hand in midair.
“Careful, the pages are falling apart. I’ll do it.” She slipped a finger between the cover and the first page and gently lifted.
Inside, photos were held in place by little slits in the page, the corners tucked into the crumbling paper, barely clinging to their places. Most of the people and places held no meaning to Meredith, but she slowly turned the pages. Black-and-white photos of serious men and women stared at her.
“Look, is that the girls and Grandpa Joe?” Paulette pointed to a formal portrait taking up one entire page.
Meredith examined the image of two young women, not more than teens, attired in hoop skirts and elaborate hairdos, flanking a young man seated on a hard-backed chair. The ladies each had a hand on one of his shoulders and, as was customary in formal portraits, grim expressions, as though they’d had their photograph made while at gunpoint. Below the photo script handwriting faded into history. She strained to make out the cursive, lifting the album to angle it in the soft light of the attic. A chill raced through her, goose bumps rising on her arms as a gust of wind slammed the door beside them. Both women jumped, the album sliding to the floor.
Meredith gasped and then frantically searched the attic with her eyes. She sniffed the air and forced her shoulders to relax. “She’s here.”
Paulette’s eyes widened before she too cast a frantic gaze around the attic. “How can you tell?”
“Honeysuckle. Don’t you smell it?” She hugged herself against the air blasting her bare arms.
Paulette sniffed cautiously and then gasped. “Yes. Damn, it’s cold in here.”
The rustle of silk accompanied the soft pad of footsteps. A gust of wind flipped the pages of the album lying on the floor in front of them. Meredith scooted back, afraid if she touched the whirring pages, they’d create a hurricane of dust and photos. The dust bunnies swirled along the baseboards like maniacal whirling dervishes. Finally the wind ceased and the pages settled. Meredith sucked in a breath and let it out slowly.
“Holy cow.” Paulette shook her head as she gazed on the photo staring up at them.
“What?” Meredith peered closer, picking out th
e twin magnolias first, though they were mere saplings in the picture. A stone wall in lieu of the current wrought-iron fence surrounded the large rectangle of grass, a picket gate closing off the family cemetery from the outside world. But even with those differences, the layout of the graveyard remained. More importantly, the cluster of people dressed in dark clothing stood next to Grandpa Joe’s grave. She searched the bottom of the page and found the caption: Joseph O’Connell, 1917.
“Grandpa Joe’s funeral.” Meredith lifted her gaze and looked around. She sensed Grace’s presence, though she did not see her spirit. Meredith studied the photo again. Evidently, Grace wanted her to be aware of Joe’s funeral. “Why did she want to show us this?”
“I can’t imagine.” Paulette squinted at her. “Is she trying to tell us something?”
Meredith shrugged. “Grace? Are you there? Tell me what you want me to do.” Meredith kept her eyes on the room, waiting, hoping for a response and dreading it simultaneously.
“And here I thought you were nuts before.” Paulette shook her head as she stood. “The window must have opened in the wind. It’s so cold in here.”
“Maybe she’s trying to tell us there are no happy endings after all. We just die.” Meredith stared at the photo. Only a few people really. Eight. Eight people cared enough to attend their great-great-great-grandfather’s funeral. How sad.
“Sure there are. Happy endings are different, though, for each of us.”
Meredith gaped at Paulette as if she’d grown two heads. “What do you mean? Surely you don’t believe in happily ever after endings? You of all people?”
Paulette inclined her head and studied Meredith for a long moment before resting a hand on her stomach as though she’d suddenly experienced a flock of butterflies inside. “Of course I do. I have to believe that no matter how many roadblocks and how much grief I endure, eventually I’ll find a way to be happy. I may even find a man to be happy with.”
“See, this is why I read nonfiction more than fiction. There’s no fantasy factor about the perfect man or woman, the perfect relationship, the perfect anything.”